


Reciprocation

by Caitiy



Category: Naruto
Genre: Beginnings, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 09:31:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14541768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitiy/pseuds/Caitiy
Summary: The first step is always the hardest.





	Reciprocation

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or the characters contained therein, they belong to Masashi Kishimoto who is kind enough to let fans write fiction. I make no profit from this nor do I intend to.
> 
> This was written sometime between 2007-2008 and was posted on Ff.n March 10, 2009. Original author's note as follows:
> 
> A/N: Just a little piece I wrote for White Day a couple years ago. This is one of the first one-shots I wrote. I just kept missing opportunities to post it. ^^; So now that White Day is once again coming up I figured it was time to dust it off and post. :)
> 
> Before anyone asks about Simple Things, my real life is insane right now so I don't know when I will have chapter thirty done. I'm sorry, but there it is. :-/ I'm doing my best to get it done and up but at the moment I'm in the middle of changing jobs and getting ready to move, writing has rather sadly had to take a backseat to real life for the time being. It will get done when it gets done I guess. ^^;; So, until next time happy reading! :)

Reciprocation

 

He sat quietly on a rooftop, his mind traversing a familiar route as he stared down at his hands... or, rather, at what he held in them: two pure white ribbons. How, he wondered, could something so simple carry so much meaning?

 

The longer he stared at the beautiful strips of cloth, the less certain of himself he became as reality and common sense began to cloud his judgment.  However, time was running out and he would have to make a decision one way or another.  Unfortunately, he just could not force himself to choose a course of action. He wondered why it came so naturally to _her_ , why _she_ never seemed to have trouble taking that first step – a step she had been taking for longer than he wanted to admit, and one which she would probably be making less and less as time progressed.

 

It had started out innocuously enough.  She had decided to include him in a tradition in which he hadn’t participated for so long that he had ceased to note its existence.  The fact that she had done this had come as a bit of a bolt from out of the blue – but, what had really come as a complete shock to his jaded twenty-six-year-old self, was that she had managed to do so in such a charmingly innocent and matter-of-fact manner.  When he had finally been able to ask her _why_ , she had laughed and, looking him straight in the eye and without hesitation, had told him that he was important to her.  Then, no doubt having taken his almost stricken expression as a dismissal, she had skipped backward with an energetic wave to rejoin her friends and finish delivering her Valentine’s Day chocolate.

 

So, the tradition had begun.  Every year, she would make and deliver a chocolate treat to him on Valentine’s Day; if he happened to be away on a mission, she would wait until he returned to the village.  And, every year he would agonize over the question of what he should do once White Day rolled around. More often than not, he would be lucky enough to be out of the village (making him one of the few shinobi who actually _wanted_ to be away during the romantic holiday), although he would usually return in time for her birthday.  This left the issue nicely vague for his tastes, though he always made sure to include some sort of tasty, white treat with his birthday gift to her.  That way, if she were ever to ask, he could shrug it off apologetically as part of his penchant for being late which, it would seem, extended to his gift giving practices.

 

Regardless, she had never called him on it and had always happily accepted whatever he had given her. She had probably known that he hadn't been able to reciprocate in any other fashion. Whether he had _wanted_ to or not was, of course, another matter entirely – though, he was now ashamed to admit to himself, that was something which had gradually changed as the years had passed and she had moved closer to adulthood.  
 

This year was different.  He had done what he had wanted to do since first realizing his new feelings for his former student, and had actually bought her a White Day present.   He felt that the lovely ribbons were a more proper return gift than some sticky, white confection.  His only problem was that he wasn’t sure if he _should_ give them to her.  Just because he _wanted_ to do so, didn’t make it _right_.

 

To the older shinobi, she was like the ribbons: beautiful, pure, innocent and unspoiled.  On the other hand, he was the complete opposite after his many hard years of service to the village. Granted, she was now a young woman – he knew that she had long ago lost her innocence, so to speak, through _her_ years of service to the village and a series of relationships of varying degrees of seriousness. Yet, somehow, she had managed to retain a certain air of purity about her and he had always told himself that if he were to actually act upon the feelings he had kept hidden for so long, he would ruin her. In his mind, she deserved so much better than anything he could ever give her but, with each passing year, it was becoming harder for him to make this rationalization.

 

It had become more and more difficult to keep his selfish feelings safely locked away, although he had, to the best of his ability, ignored any and all of her actions which might have been considered to have a less than innocent intent.  Yet, still, she had remained undaunted through the years – despite flitting from one relationship to another (though never settling into one for _too_ long), she had always found time for her former sensei and had always presented him with chocolate on Valentine’s Day.  

 

His troubles had _seriously_ begun the year before.  He had been startled to receive his usual Valentine’s chocolate from her then, for she had been almost nineteen; he had assumed that, once she was legally considered to be an adult by the village's standards, she would give up the tradition along with whatever was left of her childhood. The only thing that had prevented him from ending up in his current predicament _then,_  had been an urgent mission that had taken him from the village several days after the fourteenth of February.  He had not returned until mid-August, long after White Day and any expectations she may have had for some sort of return gift.

 

With both heart and mind torn, he sat in deep contemplation.  Time passed, and he remained motionless, his gaze riveted to the simple strips of cloth as if hoping they would suddenly reveal his correct course of action.

 

A sudden chill in the air startled him from his reverie.  Glancing up at the horizon, he confirmed that the sun had set and dusk was settling around the village.  Time, he realized, was running out.  He looked down at the ribbons once again; then, he resolutely closed his fingers around them and set out into the evening.

 

 


End file.
